The American Psychiatry Association recently released the DSM-5, and the latest incarnation has come under a great deal of criticism since the early stages of development. The DSM-5’s new diagnosis criteria, definitions, and disorders have raised concerns about over-diagnosing and over-medicating what used to be considered normal. I thought this would be a good time to examine the history of mental illness, particularly the hysteria “epidemic” of 19th century Europe and America. In many ways, the history of psychiatry can be traced through the history of hysteria; interpretations of the hysteric evolved as conceptions of the causes of mental disorders changed. As the name suggests, the earliest conceptions of hysteria centered on the uterus as the cause of the overwrought emotions and nervous delusions that defined the disease.

By the mid-19th century, however, psychiatry experienced a shift due to developments in medical technology and changing conceptions of consciousness. Rather than hysteria being a purely physical disorder, focus shifted to the “nerves” as psychiatry centered in the brain as the cause of mental disorders. Treatment for mental illness shifted away from the family and toward institutionalization at this time as well; prior to the late 18th century, mental illness was dealt with primarily within the family unit, but in the search for the origins of madness, the asylum system insisted on the patient’s separation from the family for treatment.

Women were more susceptible to being institutionalized in the 19th century; their economic dependence on men made them easy targets for institutionalization if they were unmarried or failed to perform their duties as wives, daughters, sisters, etc. These women were often classified as hysterical.

Michel Foucault interpreted the hysteric as a rebel against psychiatric (and therefore patriarchal) power. Foucault notes that hysteria and other nervous syndromes, or neuroses, could be simulated quite easily. Foucault calls hysteria “epistemologically bad” and “morally bad due to the ease with which [neurotic disorders] could be simulated and the fact that, in addition to this possibility, there was a constant sexual component of behavior” (Foucault, p. 307). The hysteric’s speech is vulgar, obscene, embarrassing, and her actions are deliberately scandalous. Throughout the 19th century, the cure for mental illness required an autobiography, a recounting of the patient’s history in order to reveal the origins of the illness. This autobiography had to be a complete confession of all of the mad and unacceptable thoughts the individual has had over the course of a lifetime. It had to be cohesive and orderly.

Resistance to the demand for confession requires “undoing the synthetic work of rhetoric and its tropes” (Tell, p. 114). One must subvert the dominant discourse, perhaps with a mad or hysterical discourse that refuses synthesis and stable identities. Feminist critic Luce Irigaray insists on the hysteric’s revolutionary potential: “Even in her paralysis, the hysteric exhibits a potential for gestures and desires… A movement of revolt and refusal, a desire for/of the living mother who would be more than a reproductive body in the pay of the polis, a living, loving woman” (Irigaray, p. 47-48). Hysteria does not speak in language, but in gestures and symptoms; it dramatizes woman’s relation to the mother, the self, and other women, and the desires that patriarchal systems force into silence, paralysis, and enclosure within the body.

The hysteric is a performer, an actress, and, perhaps, an artist of resistance. She is not, however, an author. Resistant discourse cannot adhere to the accepted forms, and especially not to psychiatric power’s demand for a cohesive autobiography, an author of madness. Obliterating the narrative voice, the “I” capable of relating an autobiography, renders confession impossible, and is therefore potentially liberating. Psychiatric power exerts its force by pinning individuals to identities through confession. Confession locates the origins and allows the disciplines, including the psychiatric system, to identify abnormal, mad, and delinquent individuals more efficiently, before the abnormal conditions even manifest.

The case of Catherine X, however, is a fascinating study of mental illness, gender, and the power structures that define madness and sanity, and the problems I have with Foucault’s interpretation of hysteria as meaningful resistance.

Catherine X was an inmate of Salpêtrière and patient of Leuret, “a woman whom he said he would never be able to cure… [because of] her inability to own to this biographical schema that carries her identity” (Foucault, p. 160). In interviews with the hospital staff, Catherine X did not use the pronoun “I,” but “the person of myself” instead. She lost touch with outer reality, claiming that invisible people conduct “physical and metaphysical experiments” on her, but more significantly, she had no sense of inner reality. Her identity completely dissolved and she became alienated from herself, thus making her incurable and any escape from the asylum impossible. A similar exile occurs for the disciplined subject in Foucault as it does for women’s lack of place in the symbolic order. The woman, the subaltern, and the madman are all exiled in language and exist on the outside of the symbolic order. In his notes, Leuret implies that the individual who does not take up the “I” is incurably mad and, resultantly, imprisoned in the asylum system. Within psychiatric power, the autobiography is a coercive tool of domination; the patient must accept the mad identity and confess his or her madness in the terms established by psychiatric discourse. An individual like Catherine X, however, did not admit to anything; she refused to fix her identity and thus did not participate in the power game of interview and confession. Catherine X is the absolute limit of psychiatric power and an assertion of the omnipotence of madness because she refuses to provide a self for the psychiatrist to examine.

Is this resistance? Or is Catherine X an example of the most oppressed, the most radical outsider and subaltern whose voice has been stripped away by the asylum?

I do see how the hysteric’s morphing symptoms out-maneuver the doctor’s treatments and possibly open new creative and linguistic avenues for self-expression, but it is problematic to view pathologization as true resistance. The hysteric in the asylum does not have true autonomy; she has to resort to self-obliteration to escape the analysis and control over her body and mind. Valorizing madness as a form of resistance has problematic implications of romanticizing it and inscribing it within a restrictive narrative of politics. Madness may only be a symbolic form of resistance and, according to Gilbert and Gubar, madness as a metaphor must be distinguished from clinical mental illness. Yet the use of these metaphors is still problematic; the metaphorical madness threatens to replace the lived experience of madness in the same way the confession in psychiatric power. Aestheticizing experience through representation is inevitably reductive; madness cannot be contained in a metaphor any more than it can be adequately explained by the metonymical replacement of symptoms. Treating madness or illness as a metaphor effaces the reality of madness itself. The experience of madness is often one of degradation and exploitation. Foucault describes the use of the hysteric as a “kind of functional mannequin” in the asylum (Foucault, p. 315). A mannequin is not even a human being; it is a prop, a speechless and powerless doll. This is not an adequate model for any real resistance to the psychiatric power structure.

The DSM is suppoesd to be free of all of these past issues of pathologizing otherness; homosexuality used to be considered a psychological disorder, after all, and the DSM removed that in an attempt to eliminate the cultural biases and arrive at a scientific understanding of psychological disorders. I am not well-versed in the DSM or psychopathology, so I will not offer any direct criticism of the latest edition. However, it is important to note that definitions of mental illness are always inscribed in a complex cultural context, so cultural biases and power dynamics are inevitable. Although we may believe we have escaped one power structure, as the hysteric who out-maneuvers and escapes the system of the asylum, we may find ourselves immediately incorporated into yet another power structure; for the hysteric, it is the concept of sexuality, and some critics of the DSM suggest that for contemporary patients, the pharmaceutical industry has replaced the asylum as the means of exerting control over the individual.

Works Cited

Foucault, Michel. Psychiatric Power: Lectures at the College de France 1973-1974. Ed. Jacques Lagrange, tr. Graham Burchell. New York: Picador, 2006.

Irigaray, Luce. “The Bodily Encounter with the Mother.” Tr. David Macey.  The Luce Irigaray Reader. Ed. Margaret Whitford. Cambridge, MA: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1991.

Tell, Dave. “Rhetoric and Power: An Inquiry into Foucault’s Critique of Confession.” Philosophy and Rhetoric 43.2 (2010): 95-117.

Beauty and the Beastly

I’ve mentioned Thorstein Veblen’s book The Theory of the Leisure Class in a few previous posts; this book was very popular at the time and many applauded Veblen for his wit, though modern readers would likely find his style dense, dull, and extremely grating (or maybe that was just me…). Anyway, I’m returning to The Theory of The Leisure Class after seeing a few brief references to the major dog shows in the last several weeks. Crufts, the world’s largest dog show, took place earlier this month and the Westminster Dog Show was held last month. These exhibitions cater more toward a niche market now, and are the subject of quirky comedies like the 2000 film Best in Show, but in the late 19th century, dog shows were enormously popular. Veblen noted this in his book and related the popularity of and fascination with purebred animals to displays of conspicuous consumption. One had to be very wealthy to own the obviously genetically manipulated breeds that could serve no practical purpose in the home. (An interesting side note that perhaps undermines or at least complicates Veblen’s argument, dogs from the toy group very rarely win Best in Show. The most successful group has been the terrier, followed by the sporting group.)

One of Veblen’s more intriguing sections concerns the treatment and perception of animals among the leisure class, especially his characterization of the “standards of beauty” for dogs as degrees of grotesqueness and deformity. This association of beauty with physical deformity recalls Veblen’s earlier discussion of feminine standards of beauty. For dogs, their economic value “rests on their high cost of production, and their value to their owners lies chiefly in their utility as items of conspicuous consumption,” strikingly similar to his descriptions of the house wife (Veblen 142). Veblen never directly addresses sexuality, his discussions of gender differences and the pervasive language of breeding necessitate considering sexual exchange, especially in this intersection between feminine and canine beauty. Veblen views the attractiveness of deformity and monstrosity in female and canine forms only as evidence of conspicuous leisure, but the issue presents itself as much more complicated than that in The Theory of the Leisure Class.

Because of his Darwinian perspective, Veblen views humans as animals, but he also views the “progress” of society as a reversion to a subhuman state. His narrative indicates a desire to uncover the animal in the human, especially with regard to sexuality. The term “breeding” suggests controlled sexuality; dog breeds were developed by restricting and manipulating animal sexuality, only allowing certain dogs to mate. The language of dog breeding is also tied to that of eugenics (Veblen’s use of the cranial index to differentiate between human ethnicities is also used to differentiate types of dog breeds), but Veblen observes that the fittest for survival were not the most venerated with respect to women and dogs. Rather, an aesthetic of weakness (e.g., the extremely small size of toy breeds, dogs with thin and silky coats that would provide poor protection against harsh weather conditions) and unnatural proportions (extremely short snouts with large eyes) signaled beauty in lap dogs.

For feminine beauty, Veblen suggests that the deformation of corseting and other cosmetic alterations place woman somewhere between human and animal. Veblen claims that this visual indication of costliness and conspicuous leisure becomes conflated with attractiveness; thus, male sexuality is also controlled by leisure class standards, to such an extent that men genuinely find the corseted form attractive, because their sexuality is entirely enclosed in pecuniary standards. Costliness comes to stand for sexual attractiveness, and there is a continual displacement of sexuality; this is crucial in Veblen, and I think this is why he never directly addresses sexuality, despite the obvious ties between sex and commerce in prostitution, sexualized performances (e.g., burlesques). Male sexuality is also contained by standards of aggressive masculinity, sublimated in sporting activities. Sports are also closely tied to animals, in the “wildness” of aggression and competition, and the use of animal mascots to symbolize the team. But, men are rarely described as “creatures” the way 19th century romance writing often characterizes female characters. The animal serves as a symbol of male aggression and virility in the sublimated sexuality of contact sports, but it takes on a different power dynamic than the association between feminine sexuality and animality that Veblen posits. One is a wild animal completely under his own power; the other is a weak, domesticated animal dependent on another for survival.

Although Veblen reads the corset as strictly evidence of a lady’s incapacity for physical labor, it also effaces female fertility by compressing the abdomen, indicating the woman’s incapacity for the physical labor of childbirth. This is controlled sexuality to the extreme. Veblen does not address the sexual freedom associated with the New Woman, but the looser clothing associated with “bloomers” and women bicyclists were inextricable from notions of looser morals, a freer sexuality. As mentioned in an earlier post on the New Woman and the Gibson Girl, the corset was not obsolete in the 1890s; the skirts of women’s garments became less voluminous, but the ideal of an extremely slender waist held for much of the decade.

For Veblen, the New Woman is situated between human and animal: “It is a type of human nature which… belongs to a cultural stage that may be classed as possibly sub-human” (Veblen 361). This subhuman cultural stage he describes earlier in the book is also prior to the institution of marriage (derived from the violent practice of wife capture), without regulated sexual competition, and, perhaps, without regulated, constrained female sexuality. So, the fear persists that the New Woman embodies a more masculine type of animality; she is not a creature of beauty, but a wild animal that resists control.

Biker Chicks

Bicycles are a 19th century invention, and “bicycle crazes” surfaced periodically, beginning in 1819, then again in1868 (in England and France), but the bicycle craze hit the United States in the last two decades of the century. Bicycles were everywhere in late 19th century American cities; cycling clubs were formed in major cities and small towns alike. An 1895 article in the New York Tribue even made the hyperbolic declaration that the bicycle was “of more importance to mankind than all the victories and defeats of Napoleon, with the First and Second Punic Wars” (quoted in Spreng 269). Bicycling was a regular topic in newspapers, even in relatively sparsely-populated areas like Minnesota and North Dakota. However, there was a lot of controversy about bicycles in the 1880s and 1890s; many of the articles were letters to the editor, complaining about bicyclists riding on sidewalks or riding too fast, but the most scandalous of all bicycle-related news was women cyclists.

Biker chick

Part of the controversy was the bicycling costume, pictured above, especially women wearing bloomers. Several letters in daily newspapers from the Fergus Falls Daily Journal, for instance, express horror at the immodesty of female bicyclists. Bloomers first appeared in the 1850s, but had always had a bad reputation due to their drastic departure from the socially accepted and extremely cumbersome women’s fashions of the time. The short, baggy trousers revealed women’s legs, which was very taboo and was considered by many to be outright risque and indecent. The cycling costume also blurred gender lines, allowing women to wear traditionally masculine clothing. Bloomers and bicycles were very closely related to the New Woman and her defiance of traditional gender roles, to the point that cycling and cycling costume were symbols of late 19th century feminism. For instance, the Grand Forks Herald described “bloomers,” a nickname for female bicyclists, as “women who stood on their rights” (quoted in Spreng 272). And when Cambridge University first granted full admission to women in 1897, male undergraduates protested by hanging an effigy of a woman on a bicycle.

Cycling was also a sort of literary hallmark for a New Woman character. In Grant Allen’s novel The Type-Writer Girl, the main character Juliet is a prototypical New Woman figure; she is educated, employed, she rides a bicycle and has a keen sense of adventure. She opens the narrative musing on the theory that the Odyssey was written by a woman, and she declares, “I will go forth into the world in search of adventures” (Allen 11, 12). For Juliet, exploration, mobility, and employment are essential components of freedom, although, predictably, she longs for romance as well. She observes that “the nineteenth century has a chivalry all its own, which I scruple to depreciate. If it speaks of us as females, it has given us the bicycle, and it almost admits that we are as fit for the franchise as the forty-shilling lodger… That I call magnanimity” (Allen 16). The 19th century has given women the somewhat cold and clinical label “female,” thus erasing the romantic “lady,” but in return it has given these females greater freedom, epitomized by the bicycle. Juliet later describes her love of bicycling:

How light and free I felt! When man first set woman on two wheels with a set of pedals, did he know, I wonder, that he had rent the veil of the harem in twain? … A woman on a bicycle has all the world before her where to choose; she can go where she will, no man hindering (Allen 43-44).

Grant Allen’s protagonist is not alone in this association between bicycling and women’s freedom. Susan B. Anthony praised the bicylce as a vehicle of feminism: “Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel…the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.” The bicycle itself and the less-restrictive clothing worn to operate it were symbols of women casting off patriarchal constraints; freed from the heavy skirts and layers of structured underclothing, “bloomers” could go where they pleased. As The Type-Writer Girl demonstrates, the bicycle was closely related to women’s freedom through independent employment; these New Women often used their bicycles for recreation and transportation to and from their places of employment. The bicycle is a liminal vehicle, allowing a woman to traverse the landscape between the domestic and public spheres, using her own will and physical power.

Works Cited

Allen, Grant. The Type-Writer Girl. Broadview Press, 1897.

Spreng, Ron. “The 1890s Bicycling Craze in the Red River Valley.” Minnesota History, summer 1995.

Image source: http://www.vintag.es/2013/02/a-woman-on-bike-circa-1890s.html

The Gibson Girl

Fashion was a preoccupation of American women throughout the 19th century, especially after the availability of mass-produced textiles; newspaper ads and popular publications include fashion segments detailing the latest trends from Europe. The Gibson Girl, named after artist Charles Dana Gibson’s  fashion illustrations, was the first nationwide standard of beauty and an unprecedented sensation. The Gibson Girl embodied a set of ideals and a “new” feminine standard of beauty.

I place “new” in quotations because, physically, the Gibson girl is not drastically different from earlier fashions, with her hourglass figure, tall and slender form, and elaborately coiffed hair. Corsetting was still standard in the 1890s and a more cinched silhouette was preferred, especially in comparison to the early 19th century. The exaggerated figure of the Gibson girl required a swan-bill corset, which forced the bust forward and the hips backward. The Gibson girl’s large bust and hips indicate a vast change in ideal feminine figures over the course of the 19th century. Compare these two dresses, one from 1900 and the other from 1820:

Dinner dress

Ball gown

The columnar silhouette and empire waistlines were popular until around the late 1820s, when the waistlines began to drop and cinch inward. In the 1860s, bell and hoop skirts were in fashion, creating a more exaggerated difference between the constrained, corsetted waist and the wide skirt. These cumbersome skirts fell out of favor in the 1870s and were replaced by bustles, maintaining a great difference between waist and hip ratio. By the late 1880s, the bustle moved completely to the back of the dress, so that it projected at nearly a 90-degree angle. The emphasis on the hips and breasts in the late 19th century, with lower necklines and the swan-bill corset-induced “S-curve,” suggests a more sexualized feminine ideal than the passionless purity of Victorian era femininity.

What was “new” about the Gibson girl was the set of ideals that she epitomized. The Gibson girl’s behavior is a departure from Victorian standards of femininity that focused on a woman’s submissiveness, timidity, purity, and suitability to the role of wife and mother. In contrast, the Gibson girl is educated and independent, and more daringly assertive, and even flirtacious, in her interactions with men. She is the glamorized and romanticized icon of the literary figure of the New Woman, depicted in novels like Henry James’ Daisy Miller and Grant Allen’s The Type-Writer Girl. The New Woman was unwilling to sacrifice herself and her pleasures, unlike her Victorian predecessor. The New Woman often had a job outside the home and was physically active (in some cases, engaging in the controversial pastime of bicycling–I will write a more detailed post on bicycles later on, but conservative society considered it an improper and dangerous sport for young women, and criticized bicycles as a public nuissance). She was quite different from the delicate woman prone to fainting and nervous fits so common in novels from earlier decades. However, the New Woman and the Gibson Girl are not interchangeable, despite their similarities. The New Woman was typically more politically active and more rebellious, while the Gibson Girl was more frivolous and less of a threat to the institution of marriage. Her boldness is attractive, but ultimately not as threatening as that of the New Woman.  The Gibson girl is also part of the apotheosis of youth, which the New Woman does not always represent (the terms “girl” and “woman” imply this subtle difference). They offer different commentaries on an emerging concept of American womanhood, one that pushed against the cult of domesticity.

The Gibson Girl is a representative of high society, so some discussion of social class is essential in interpreting her role in the public imagination. In The Theory of the Leisure Class, Thorstein Veblen explains the changing gender roles in great detail, and in reference to economic status. Veblen posits that women’s exemption from labor is a form of conspicuous consumption; woman’s “work” is to display the economic prosperity of men, most often through their bodies. Earlier cultures, like the ancient Greeks, preferred “a robust, large-limbed woman” capable of physical labor because, while prosperous women were exempt from certain forms of labor, they still needed to perform the tasks of household drudgery (Veblen chapter 6). Slightly more advanced (but still pre-modern) societies idealized an “infirmly delicate, translucent, and hazardously slender” female form, which is achieved through devices like corsets and foot-binding (ibid.). Veblen summarizes that “In the course of economic development the ideal of beauty among the peoples of the Western culture has shifted from the woman of physical presence to the lady, and it is beginning to shift back again to the woman” (ibid). This is because “under the higher efficiency of modern industry, leisure in women is possible so far down the scale of reputability that it will no longer serve as a definitive mark of the highest pecuniary grade” (ibid). Later on, Veblen specifically addresses the New Woman, and like many male writers of the time, he is very critical:

In this “New-Woman” movement—as these blind and incoherent efforts to rehabilitate the woman’s pre-glacial standing have been named—there are at least two elements discernible, both of which are of an economic character. These two elements or motives are expressed by the double watchword, “Emancipation” and “Work.” (Veblen chapter 13)

He elaborates, “there is a demand, more or less serious, for emancipation from all relation of status, tutelage, or vicarious life” from upper-class women; they seek emancipation from uselessness, emancipation through work (ibid). Veblen claims that modern upper-class women’s purely vicarious lives are repulsive to the natural instincts toward work, and the New Woman is a reversion to a primitive form of human; she “belongs to a cultural stage that may be classed as possibly sub-human” (ibid). Veblen suggests that women’s return to work is evidence of social regression, even as it is a sign of economic progress. He also implies that women’s generally more “masculine” character in the present age is due to the effeteness of men, that is, the New Woman emerged in order to compensate for the effeminate character of the dandy. This was a common criticism against the New Woman; she was “an avant garde attacking marriage and reproduction,” associating with decadent dandies rather than austere and rugged men, and often rejecting the idea of marriage in favor of her own career and education (Showalter, “Introduction,” ix). New Woman fiction addressed women’s marital discontent and feelings of oppression in patriarchal society. The Gibson girl softens this threat to the institution of marriage in her constant reference to men as a romantic interest and her conformity to most standards of decency. Although she wears low-cut necklines and exhibits flirtacious behavior, she is not shocking or scandalous. Even though she challenges men intellectually, she is always in a socially acceptable situation– she certainly not experimenting with drugs like the narrator of Kate Chopin’s “The Egyptian Cigarette,” she is not overtly involved in the suffragette movement or rejecting marriage outright.  However, the popularity of the Gibson girl and her challenges to patriarchal constraints on women’s behavior in society are important indicators of the changing concepts of femininity and gender roles in the United States through the 19th century.

Works cited:

Glasscock, Jessica. “Nineteenth-Century Silhouette and Support.” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of
Art, 2000

Showalter, Elaine (ed). Daughters of Decadence: Women Writers of the Fin-De-Siecle. Rutgers, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1993.

Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class. Accessed through Project Gutenberg.

Image sources:

1900 dinner dress: http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/80096050

1820 ball gown: http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/80096826

Manly Men

I mentioned in my last post that the rise of boxing indicated changes in concepts of masculinity, and I’d like to go more in-depth about those late 19th century shifts in ideals. After the Civil War, the American ideal of masculinity became less intellectual, less focused on manners and grace, and more on raw physical power. Theodore Roosevelt and the Rough Riders, John L. Sullivan, cowboys, and other “tough guys” were icons of masculinity at the turn of the century. These men were connected with nature, a sense of belonging in the wilderness and ability to dominate the landscape. Roosevelt played a large role in the contemporary focus on health and physical activity. As I mentioned in the previous post, a robust and brawny body became an important part of the masculine ideal in the late 19th century. Roosevelt was a sickly child, but his father encouraged him to participate in vigorous exercise and sports, even boxing, which TR credited for his recovery and robust physical constitution in adulthood. Roosevelt studied natural history in his youth, which also contributed to his image as an independent outdoorsman and his devotion to conservation of the wilderness.


Ironically, this nature-based notion of masculinity came at a time when the wilderness was disappearing and urban areas began expanding. In 1880, New York City became the first city to have a population of over 1 million people, indicating the massive population shift that concentrated more Americans in urban centers. The 1890 census declared that the frontier region no longer existed; all territories in the United States were settled. This caused an identity crisis at the turn of the century, exemplified in Frederick Jackson Turner’s frontier thesis. The figure of the lone pioneer, setting out in the wilderness with only himself to depend on, pushed back against the fact of urban expansion and the “official” loss of the frontier. The late-century masculine ideal supposedly harkened back to an earlier, more authentic and self-possessed type of American man, but the standards of masculinity in the early American period were very different and certainly did not exhibit the hyper-masculinity and anti-intellectualism that characterized late-19th century notions of manhood.

In the early 19th century, the masculine ideal was much more domestic compared to the brawny, often lone, outdoorsman of the late 19th century. Washington Irving was an early defender of the masculinity of bachelors and writers, because they did not conform to the masculine ideal. In the early American period, masculinity was determined more by possessions and mastery of skill. By age 30, a man was expected to have a wife, children, property, secure employment within his social class, and all of the social graces that were necessary for the heavily verbal parlor society. Less emphasis was placed on the body; the ideal man would be physically capable, lean and balanced, but above all, graceful. This is evident in portraits from the period.

Portrait of the Artist

Compare Thomas Sully’s self-portrait from 1821 with the photograph of Teddy Roosevelt above. The Sully portrait highlights more delicate features, a soft and rosy complexion, graceful hands, a thoughtful look. TR riding a moose is, well, self-explanatory.  

The early American standards of masculinity were also less exaggerated, partly because the late 19th century challenges to traditional gender roles were less of a concern several decades earlier. While late 19th century men feared that women were becomign too masculine and abandoning their feminine duties, early American educators sought to reduce the “natural,” feminine lack of reason and excess passion. Republican motherhood was an ideal meant to make women more rational and more fit to raise informed and intelligent citizens. That’s not to say that 18th and early 19th century gender roles were egalitarian; women were still assumed to need strict external control and molding from men, and were considered incapable of complete rationality or full citizenship. Women were still largely contained to the domestic sphere, of course, but the spheres were not so separate in the early American period. As mentioned in the post on theater, early American culture valued rhetoric, and women were expected to be able to speak in semi-public arenas like school assemblies and social gatherings in private homes. Men in the 18th and early19th century were much more involved in the day-to-day activities of domestic life, and the work and home spheres mingled, especially before the establishment of a rigid work day. Bankers, shop-keepers and other urban professionals often spent periods of their work-day at home. Technological developments and changes in the workforce during the Industrial Revolution contributed to the separate spheres ideology that emphasized vast differences between the sexes and ideals of masculine and feminine behavior. Further technolgical changes in the late 19th century, like the invention of telephones, typewriters, and other mechanical devices, created jobs outside the home for unmarried women and more sedentary labor for men. Along with the loss of the frontier, these technological advances caused many to fear that American culture was becoming effete, that women were becoming too manly and men were becoming too weak and effeminate, and so the new masculine ideal emerged to reassure that the sexes were indeed extremely different and that men were in control of their destiny and environment. Domination-based sports like boxing and football exemplify this masculine ideal, which (at least partially) explains their massive popularity in the late 19th century.

Image sources

Thomas Sully Portrait: http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections/20013073

TR riding a moose: http://museummonger.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/tr-riding-moose-1900.jpg